


Somebody

by theramblinrose



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23316748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: Caryl, AU.  Everybody needs somebody.  So, when neither of them had anybody, it only made sense to turn to each other.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Somebody

AN: You’ve got cool-avaspuppies from Tumblr to thank for this one. She gave me this prompt as something to help me keep writing during this isolation period. I don’t know if this was what she wanted, exactly, but this is what happened. I enjoyed it, actually, more than I thought I would, and I hope that you enjoy it, too! 

I own nothing from the Walking Dead. 

I hope that you enjoy! Please let me know what you think! 

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She sat across the diner table from him and picked at her French fries. He watched her hands—her long slender fingers—as she picked each fry up and, seemingly absentmindedly, broke it in half if it was large enough to allow her such luxury. Then, after passing it between her fingers for a moment, she would occasionally drag it through the ketchup and swallow it, practically without chewing.

She was also halfway through a vanilla shake, but she hadn’t taken a single bite of the burger. Daryl struggled under the impulsive desire to offer to cut the burger up for her. He was almost sure that she would eat it if she didn’t have to chew it or struggle to swallow it. 

Since he didn’t know how to offer that particular service without seeming insulting, though, he simply reserved his own fries with the determination to offer them to her when she’d finished the rhythmic consumption of her own.

He’d buy her another shake, too, when that one ran out—whether she said she wanted it or not.

Daryl knew that any woman who called him—Daryl Dixon—because she didn’t know who else to call, was in an absolute world of shit. He could forgive her any and every level of distraction that she was experiencing as she sat across from him, half-staring out the window and mostly looking like she was doing her best not to cry. 

She’d called him, she said, because he was Ed’s best friend.

Daryl didn’t know, exactly, what had prompted Ed Peletier to tell her that, but it didn’t take much to figure out that telling her that Daryl was his best friend was just one lie in a very long line of them. 

To say that Ed Peletier and Daryl Dixon were best friends, was about the same thing as saying that motor oil and milk were the same thing. Sure, if you spent enough time and you focused hard enough, you could find a few places of overlap, but it shouldn’t be too easy to confuse the two.

At least Daryl hoped it wasn’t too easy to confuse the two in the case of himself and Ed Peletier.

They’d gone to high school together, but everyone in town had gone to high school together. Besides that, Daryl had spent as little time in high school as he actually could without failing out—and thanks to the fact that the lady at the doctor’s office thought he was cute, he was even able to skip a few more days than most people might have been able to skip.

Daryl had worked several part-time jobs for Ed Peletier’s father. He was pretty well-to-do, and he owned a large farm. Nearly everyone had worked for Ed Peletier Sr. at some point or another. 

Because Daryl’s older brother, Merle, was one of the most social creatures on Earth—despite the fact that he really got under people’s skin on a regular basis—he’d taught Daryl that it was always best to “be friendly” with everyone. What he meant by that, was not at all what it sounded like. Merle Dixon was not an advocate for being kind and caring toward every member of mankind. Rather, Merle was a fan of keeping his friends close and his enemies closer. He was also not against smearing just enough kindness over the right kind of people as to reap whatever they could offer him.

Daryl had drunk a beer or two with Ed Peletier after work, and that was where he’d first learned that Carol was a “friend” of Ed’s. 

Daryl had known Carol Ann McAlister his whole damn life—to some degree or another, at least. They grew up in the same small town and it was impossible not to know each other. While Daryl had grown up, for most of his life, outside of the city limits, in a trailer with holes in the sides large enough to pitch cats through, Carol had grown up in one of the neat little mill houses in town with flowers growing right up beside the white concrete walkway that led to the sidewalk.

Carol was friendly with everyone and, unlike Merle, she was pretty sincere in her offers of friendship. Still, she’d always been a world away from Daryl, even though he’d had a bit of a crush on her since as long as he could remember, and she’d always been something of a world away from everyone else, too. 

She was friendly. She was sweet. She got good grades, and she spent most of her time with her nose stuck in book. She could sit at nearly every table in the cafeteria and find someone to talk to her. The problem, Daryl supposed, was that very few of the people were that interested in talking to her after the lunch bell rang. She’d fallen into a very difficult “group” because she hadn’t fallen anywhere. 

Daryl had been poor, white trash. It hadn’t been difficult to know where he belonged or didn’t belong.

Carol had been something else entirely. She’d been one of those people that was allowed to visit any group, but was never really allowed inside. 

Carol’s father worked at the mill in town—as did many of the lower-class people who wanted to consider themselves middle class, despite their reality—and he held his position, as far as Daryl knew, for a good long time. Carol’s family, though, had always been sort of surrounded by trouble. Her sister—her older sister—died at the lake one summer. She was out with her boyfriend in a boat, and she fell over the side. She wasn’t wearing a life jacket, and she couldn’t swim. Apparently, he’d tried to save her, but he hadn’t been able to. They’d ruled it an accident, and her family had moved on as best they could, but the town never really let it go—so much so, in fact, that her boyfriend’s family had moved out of town less than six months later to keep away from the probably-imagined scandal. 

Carol’s mother had never really recovered from the loss of her eldest daughter. Rumor had it that she went crazy—the bat-shit variety of crazy—and that she just couldn’t get over the loss of one daughter enough to give much of a shit about the other. They’d called her death a suicide. Rumor had it that she’d hung herself, with a belt, in the back bedroom of that little mill house with the flowers growing right outside.

Carol’s old man had hung on, at least, until Carol had finished high school. Daryl assumed the old man’s intention was never to leave his daughter, but the universe had other ideas. He’d died from some kind of serious illness not a year ago, leaving Carol the little mill house and what tiny bit of money Daryl assumed that he had left from what the mill had paid him.

Carol’s life might look prettier from the outside—with the little white house and the walkway all lined with flowers—but Daryl knew that she was as much a social pariah as he was. The only difference was that the people around town at least pretended that they liked Carol, even though they looked at her out of the corners of their eyes and assumed that, somehow, she must be cursed.

She didn’t seem cursed to Daryl, but he understood about getting dealt a shit hand. He wasn’t much better off than she was.

He lived in a different single wide than the one he’d spent much of his life growing up in, but it was hardly in great condition. He shared it with his older brother—his much older brother—when the asshole could bother to come home and confirm that he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. 

Daryl was not much better off when it came to having relatives than Carol was—especially not when it came to parents. The only difference was that Carol’s father had at least waited until she was a legal adult to check out on her—and he had been a pretty decent father, while he’d been alive, from what Daryl understood.

Daryl’s own parents hadn’t held out quite so long.

His mother had been his favorite person in the world—the only person, besides his older brother, that Daryl had ever loved. Living with her asshole husband, though, and trying to keep him from beating on her boys as much as he beat on her was too much for her ass to take. Everything that was left of her body had fit in a large, garish, Ziploc bag of sorts. Merle had gone to identify it, but he’d said they just took it on his word that she’d been the only one home that day. 

Daryl had watched the house, from the street, as the last of it was swallowed up by the unimaginably hot flames. He’d been out chasing after the neighbor kids—never able to keep up with them because he’d never had a bike like they did. It had been one of those little mill houses—gray on the outside—and Daryl still wondered if she’d really been drunk and passed out smoking or if, like Carol’s mother, she’d just decided to opt out of finishing out the rest of her shit-show existence.

They’d moved to the half-rotted trailer outside of town when the practically-cardboard-box holding the Ziploc baggy of ashes had been thrown into a hole in the county-owned cemetery that was filled with tight little graves for the assholes who couldn’t afford a decent plot. Daryl had been seven then—or eight—he didn’t really remember which, and it didn’t really matter. 

His old man had checked out of the world in a motorcycle accident, his body left in enough pieces to have doubled as a jigsaw puzzle, when Daryl was fifteen. Daryl wasn’t sad to see him go. He’d been a son of a bitch, and the day after his death was the first day that Daryl’s back had ever started to really heal. Merle had been discharged from the military for drug abuse, misconduct, and a couple of other infractions, about four months before the old man died, so he was left to become Daryl’s temporary guardian while Daryl sought emancipation and to prove that he could take care of himself—he’d been doing it for most of his life any damn way.

Daryl was comfortable with his place on the outside of the world around him. He focused on his work, and he kept out of people’s business for the most part. He was good at being conveniently deaf when people got to talking about how he’d come from nothing, was still nothing, and wasn’t likely to ever be more than that—he couldn’t help it really, they said, not after what he’d come from. 

Daryl didn’t really care what they said. Not all that much.

But it was harder, he supposed, for people like Carol—people who wanted to be kind to the world and who wanted to feel the world’s kindness. 

Daryl supposed that’s how she’d ended up with Ed Peletier.

Ed Peletier was an asshole. He was one of the lowest kinds of creatures that Daryl imagined slithered through the world. He mistreated every girl that he ever so much as looked at. Daryl knew he put his hands on them, and he knew that he ran around with more than one of them at once. He had money, though, and he had social standing because of who his daddy was. Everyone in town respected Ed’s father—or at least they pretended to respect him. He was a bigger asshole than his son, though that was saying a lot, but nearly everyone that wasn’t of the upper crust had needed part time work from the man to make a payment here or there. 

Carol was a pretty little thing—she always had been. And she was soft, and sweet, and everything that you ever wanted a woman to be. She worked part time as a waitress, and part time as a receptionist to keep up with the bills she had. Daryl assumed she didn’t make too much money, but rumor had it the little mill house was paid for, and that probably eased some of her burden. 

Someone like Carol was easy for someone like Ed to take advantage of, and that was exactly what he’d done.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” she’d said, her voice coming out soft and raspy over the phone. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

It had been a phone call that Daryl had never expected to get. He wasn’t even sure how Carol had gotten his number. Now, sitting across from her at the little diner booth, and having listened to everything through half-choked words that came out with the occasional swallowed-back sob, he realized that what she was really saying was that she didn’t have anyone to turn to and, maybe, he could understand that better than some. 

He hardly knew her, but she was counting on him for something she couldn’t find anywhere else—even if it was just a shoulder to cry on.

Daryl flagged down the waitress when silence fell heavy between them for a moment. The woman came over, offered a smile, and Daryl pointed toward Carol’s milkshake. 

“Another vanilla shake,” Daryl requested. “And—could we get another order of fries between us? To share?” 

“No!” Carol said quickly. “No—Daryl, I…”

Daryl shook his head at her and then turned back to the waitress. He gave her the best smile he could. He’d been told that, if he had nothing else going for him, he had a nice smile. At least, that’s what the lady at the doctor’s office had told him. Daryl seldom brought his smile out in public. Very few people around there merited a smile. But he used it in cases when he was dealing with other poor-ass people, like himself, who were just trying to make enough of a living to pretend that they weren’t part of the town’s dirt-poor population.

“Please?” He urged.

“Right away, Sugah,” she slurred, popping her gum. She winked at him, and Daryl felt his cheeks run warm. Daryl was twenty-two—a full grown man and then some, as his brother said—and she was a kid of probably no more than fifteen, and probably not the fifteen that had seen enough to be counted as “wise beyond” those years.

“I don’t need anything else to eat,” Carol said.

“Some fries and a lil’ bit more shake won’t hurt nothin’,” Daryl said. “You one of them that’s always on a diet?” 

“I tried to watch what I eat,” Carol said. “Ed said that—I needed to lose just about twenty pounds, then I’d be OK.” 

Daryl frowned to himself.

“Lose twenty pounds, you’d be as good as dead,” Daryl said. “Ed’s an idiot. And an asshole.”

“I thought he was your—best friend,” Carol said.

“Ed prob’ly thinks everybody’s his best friend,” Daryl said. Knowing that plenty more fries were coming, he ate a few of his. She’d accept the fresh order of fries, more than likely, before she’d take the ones from his plate. “Try your burger. If you can stomach it. Ed—he prob’ly thinks everybody’s his best friend ‘cause they tolerate his ass. Truth is—I don’t know him any better’n I know you. Maybe even less.” 

“I shoudn’t have bothered you,” Carol said.

“You ain’t botherin’ me,” Daryl said. 

“You should—let me pay for lunch, at least for mine?” Carol said.

“I told you I was buyin’ when I picked you up,” Daryl said.

“I don’t want to take your money. I only thought you might—I guess I thought you might talk to him,” Carol said.

“There ain’t no more use in me talkin’ to him than me goin’ to have a chat with that dumpster out back,” Daryl said. “I’m sorry—that’s just all there is to it. He don’t even give a damn about my opinion. I’ve had a couple of beers with him. That’s it. I don’t even like talkin’ to him. He won’t say more to me than he said to you.” 

“He didn’t really say much,” Carol said, looking mournfully at the burger that she was playing with, but not actually eating. Daryl swallowed back, as it surged up again, the desire to offer to cut her burger into bite-sized pieces for her. “I guess—that said all he meant to say.” 

“Shit,” Daryl said. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Carol said. She laughed insincerely to herself. “It’s not your fault at all. It’s mine—and now? I don’t really know what to do.” 

“Fuck,” Daryl mused. “It ain’t your fault, neither. At least—the way I understand it, you ain’t alone here. It’s just as much his responsibility. He didn’t have shit to say about that?” 

Carol shrugged her shoulders. 

“He gave me money to take care of it,” Carol said. 

She fell awkwardly quiet and grew stiff. Daryl glanced around him, not sure if he’d see Ed Peletier, the Grim Reaper, or some dark rider of the apocalypse. 

It was the waitress. But, with the way gossip flowed in this town, she was close to any of Daryl’s other guesses except for being Ed himself. 

She put the food down, accepted that they wanted nothing else for the moment, and walked off. Daryl pushed both the fries and shake toward Carol and, when she didn’t reach for either, he pushed them closer. She’d either take them or end up wearing them—the choice was hers.

“He oughta give you money to take care of it,” Daryl said. “If he ain’t gonna do nothin’ else, at least he oughta do that.” 

“I mean to take care of it,” Carol said, stressing the words. “He said—he doesn’t want to hear about it. It’s not his. And—if I try to keep it—and I try to tell people it’s his, he’s going to tell the whole town about what a liar and a whore I am.” 

Daryl’s stomach churned. That seemed just about right for Ed Peletier. 

Daryl was certain, too, that Carol wasn’t the first girl he’d gotten into trouble. Daryl had heard rumors about some of the girls who left town, with their families, and never moved back. He’d heard rumors about a couple who had left town to visit out-of-state relatives and had come back some time later. He was certain, as well, that some had simply “taken care” of things, as Ed had suggested to Carol.

“If it’s true, it don’t matter anyway,” Daryl said dismissively, “and if it ain’t true—it don’t matter anyway. You sure he’s the…” Daryl glanced around, making sure that nobody was listening to them. They’d chosen a back-corner table for just that reason. “You sure he’s the one?” 

“Positive,” Carol said. “There wasn’t anybody else.” She shook her head and dragged a few more napkins out of the dispenser to wipe at her nose and eyes. Only a few sobs had escaped her since she’d even been on the phone with Daryl. She couldn’t hold it all back, maybe, but she was doing her best not to overwhelm him with soggy sadness. “Shit,” she breathed out, surprising him. “You don’t need any of this. I ought to go.” 

Daryl reached his hand across the table and placed it on her arm, steadying and stilling her as she moved like she might try to leave the booth. He shook his head at her. 

“Where the hell would you go?” Daryl asked.

“Home,” Carol said, her voice shaking.

“I drove you, remember?” Daryl asked with a laugh. 

“I could walk,” she offered.

“Sit down,” Daryl said. “Eat your fries and drink that shake. God knows you look like you need it. More now, I guess.” Carol sat down with a sigh. She studied her meal and sniffed a few times as she got herself under control.

Ed Peletier was an asshole. He deserved to get run over by one of those big ass tractors that rolled around his old man’s farm all day, every day. Daryl wasn’t a big fan of most humans, as far as humans went, because he found most of them to be unkind and lacking compassion, entirely, for anyone or anything but themselves. He especially disliked people like Ed Peletier, though—the kind of people who had everything they could ever want in the world. He disliked the kind of people who had never known what it was like to hurt for anything—emotionally, physically, or financially.

Ed could have had every damn thing that was good in the world—and most of it was either in his grasp already or was sitting across the table from Daryl sniffling into her second vanilla milkshake.

Ed could have had the money to sleep easy every night. He could have had a little house with a sweet, pretty, little wife that would make it into a home that was suitable for any damn body, no matter where they stood in the town ranking. He could have had a couple of kids playing in the yard—or at least the start of all that. He could have even had a dog to put the proverbial cherry on the whole picture-perfect life if that’s what he wanted. 

But he was throwing money at Carol and threatening to ruin her reputation—what small, pathetic scrap of one she might even have in that town—if she breathed a word of his responsibility in the matter of the child that, still invisible to the world at this moment, she was carrying. 

“You gonna take care of it?” Daryl asked.

“What?” Carol asked, looking up from her milkshake like she’d been slapped. A few tears still glistened on her cheeks when the sunlight streaming through the window struck them.

“You gonna—you know—take care of it?” Daryl asked. “Like he asked. Or can’t I ask you that?” 

“You can ask me whatever you want,” Carol said. “I dragged you into this.”

“So, you gonna—do it?” Daryl asked. His stomach tightened.

“I don’t think I can,” Carol said. She shrugged her shoulders. “I thought about it. I really did. But—I don’t have anybody. Nobody. At least…if I had it, I’d have somebody.” 

Daryl’s heart thundered inexplicably. His breath came quicker and in shorter draws. He nodded his head. 

“It’s tough,” he said. “Not really havin’ nobody.” 

Carol laughed nervously to herself.

“I won’t tell on Ed, though,” Carol said, shaking her head. 

“Because of your reputation?” Daryl asked.

“You think that not telling on him’s going to save my reputation?” Carol asked. She lowered her voice like someone might hear them, but nobody cared. Not right now. This wasn’t the crowd that would give a shit. “That’s pretty much history. Unwed mother is bad enough. Bastard baby? The best thing that’s going to happen is—is I get more pity tips from people who want to come and look at the town freak show.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Town shame, maybe,” Daryl said. “Freak show’s a bit too damn harsh.” She glared at him. Still, he didn’t feel that it was wholly sincere. He thought there was a smirk playing at her lips. Maybe she appreciated that he would tease with her instead of already making everything about her life as fucking funereal as it was sure to be—and had been before. “I’m shittin’ you,” he offered, just in case.

“I know,” she said with a sigh. 

Daryl chewed on a bite of his burger and thought about it. He thought about everything—his whole sorry life to this point. He might have dreams about where he might go from here or what he might be, but the truth was that the people who talked about him not-quite-so-behind-his-back were probably right. He’d come from nothing, and he wasn’t very likely to rise too far above that. 

The most he could do, he’d always figured, was to make the best of the nothing that he had.

He cleared his throat. 

“Hear me out,” he said. “Before you say no.” 

“What?” Carol asked, sitting up from where she’d somewhat slumped in her seat.

“Don’t say no,” Daryl said. “At least—not right away. What if—you was to tell everyone it was my kid?” 

Carol frowned at him.

“Why would I do that?” She asked.

Daryl smiled to himself. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you?” He asked. “Saves you from havin’ a bastard, right? From every damn thing they’d say.”

“But what would they say about you?” Carol asked.

“Nothin’ worse than what the hell they say already,” Daryl said. “Listen—I’d help out. Money-wise and all. Hell—I’ll help, you know, when it’s here…much as you’d let me. I know—and believe me, I know it—that I ain’t worth a damn. But—an old man that ain’t much of nothin’ is still better than nothin’ at all, right?” 

Carol stared at him. She stared at him hard. She frowned deeply. It was a crazy idea. It had been an absolutely crazy idea—and Merle had always warned Daryl that he was a bit too impulsive if he liked the idea of something. His stomach churned as it rejected his choice of lunch.

“Fuck,” he breathed out. He laughed insincerely to himself. “I guess—bein’ a bastard is better than havin’ me as an old man, huh?”

“Daryl…” Carol started.

“Forget it,” Daryl said. “Just fuckin’ forget it, OK? It was a stupid fuckin’ idea and I’m sorry for even fuckin’ sayin’ it. Drink your damn shake—and I’ll take your ass home.” 

Daryl felt every muscle in his body tighten. He hid behind drinking his shake because it was something that would occupy his mouth and his hands. It was something he could focus on that wasn’t how bad it hurt—and how much he knew that he had no right to be hurt over her honest reaction to a crazy idea.

He didn’t expect her cool, soft, slender fingers to come across the table and curl around his arm. He jumped at the touch. He was unaccustomed to touch—particularly to touch that was soft and gentle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered softly. 

He looked at her. He saw something in her eyes. She was accustomed to apologizing when other people got angry. Ed had probably taught her that. Daryl knew he was in the habit of treating the girls he ran after like shit. Still, most of them allowed it because they hoped to one day marry him and have his money. Maybe Daryl had even thought that was why Carol allowed it. Now, he wondered if she’d allowed it just to keep from being alone. 

“Don’t apologize to me,” Daryl said. “You got a right to think what you think.” His pride still smarted worse than his leg did the time he’d sliced it with sheet metal and his brother had washed the cut out with lacquer thinner. It wasn’t Carol’s fault, though, and there was no need for her to suffer for his shortcomings. “It’s me who oughta be sorry for offerin’ you such a stupid fuckin’ idea.” 

Carol licked her lips. She didn’t move her hand away from his arm. It was so soft and small as it curled around his arm. 

“It wasn’t a stupid idea,” Carol said. “It was—the sweetest thing that anyone’s ever offered to do for me.” 

Daryl felt his face run warm and his stomach ached. 

“But…” He said.

“But I don’t understand—why,” Carol said. “Why would you want to do something like that? It would ruin your reputation.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“What reputation?” He asked. “I’m a fuckin’ nobody anyway.” 

“But—why would you want to—tie yourself down to a kid that wasn’t your responsibility?” 

Daryl shrugged.

“I guess because—you don’t have nobody,” Daryl said. “And—the kid don’t have nobody. And, fuck, I don’t really have nobody. I guess—I figured it kind of made sense to…work it out, you know? So…at least everybody has somebody.” 

Carol smiled softly.

“I don’t think you’re a nobody,” Carol offered. “In fact—I think you’re somebody…pretty incredible.” 

Daryl’s chest tightened. He laughed to himself, forcing out the laughter since it felt like it was hung in his chest.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but incredible ain’t never been used—not in a non-ironic way—to describe a single damn soul on the Dixon family tree.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“Well, it’s true,” she said. “But—I still can’t let you do that. You don’t even know me. I can’t let you—ruin your life for somebody who’s…nobody to you.” 

“Maybe I don’t know you that good,” Daryl offered, “but—I know you. You’re somebody to me. Hell—you’re the first damn person to ever use the word incredible to describe me or anybody I’m related to. And that’s just for me…wantin’ to do somethin’ that ain’t entirely unselfish. And if it’s the knowin’ each other that matters—I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better.” 

“But—with all this baggage?” Carol asked.

Daryl liked the hint of the smile on her face. He liked the way it made him feel. He liked her eyes, too. He could spend all day just getting lost in them if she’d let him. 

“We all got baggage,” Daryl offered. “And a whole damn lot of it.” He got the feeling she was caving, and it made his stomach quiver a little. For a split second, he checked with himself. This was crazy, and maybe he was crazy for suggesting it, but he realized that he didn’t want to take it back. He was dedicated to this. “I meant my offer, Carol. Still do. You say you got nobody. Kid’s got nobody. Hell—let me be somebody. In exchange? I get somebody, too. There ain’t no loser in this.” 

Carol smiled at him, but her smile was unsure and her eyebrows were somewhat knitted together with concern.

“You’re sure?” She asked.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been surer of a single damn thing in my life,” Daryl offered. “That a yes? We gonna—do this? Tell everyone it’s mine and…hell, I don’t know. Just—make it work? Let it be so?” 

“What about—you and me?” Carol asked.

“Said I wouldn’t mind gettin’ to know you,” Daryl offered. “You tell me what that means to you. What you want it to mean. I mean—it ain’t like you gotta decide right now. Not like—before we finish this meal or nothin’. If we’re gonna do this…we got a while.” 

Carol stared at him, hard, for a few moments before she spoke.

“If we do this—if we really, truly do this? And you really want to be…everything that you’ve offered to be? We’ve got…a whole lifetime.” 

Daryl laughed to himself and toyed with a napkin. He started rolling it up, keeping his fingers busy.

“That mean—we gettin’ started?” Daryl asked. 

Carol smiled to herself. She chewed through a French fry, probably for the same reason that Daryl toyed with the napkin.

“I guess it does,” she offered.

Daryl smiled to himself when his stomach fluttered in response to all that answer may mean. 

Ed Peletier was an asshole, but he was the real nobody. And he didn’t matter at all. Not to Daryl and, maybe soon, not to Carol.

Daryl cleared his throat and swallowed down some of the melted strawberry milkshake he’d been nursing. He owed the waitress a good tip for tying up her table for so long, but that mattered very little to him at the moment. 

“Feels pretty good,” Daryl offered.

“What?” Carol asked, wiggling around and readjusting herself in the hard booth across from him.

“Just—havin’ somebody,” Daryl said. 

Carol smiled. That smile was meant for him. Daryl could tell. And that felt pretty good, too.

“Yeah,” Carol offered. “It does. It really does.”


End file.
